


Honey on my tongue

by TuskFM



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Comfort, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Nile Freeman-centric, POV Nile Freeman, it's not about that but there's references to dead characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26105875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuskFM/pseuds/TuskFM
Summary: “Ma chérie.” Booker lay a gentle kiss over her shoulder. She stirs under the covers and he presses more kisses over her skin. “Mamz’elle, mon coeur, mon ange, mi amor.” He punctuates each kiss with a pet name.“Don’t think you can sweet talk your way out of this Sébastien.” Nile says behind a smile. Sleep still roughs her voice.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 27
Kudos: 245
Collections: Book of Nile Collection!





	Honey on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to write something sweet to get my head out of this hellfic I’m currently trying to write, and a few post on tumblr made some really compelling arguments about this ship that I just couldn’t resist. Need my himbo who drinks loving wife juice with his wonderful gf having a nice day.

“ _Ma chérie_.” Booker lay a gentle kiss over her shoulder. She stirs under the covers and he presses more kisses over her neck, ear, cheek, nose all the way to her forehead. She scrunches her nose up —'like a bunny’ he told her once— as she always does when he kisses it. “ _Mamz’elle, mon cœur, mon ange, mi amor_.” He punctuates each kiss with a pet name.

“Don’t think you can sweet talk your way out of this Sébastien.” Nile says behind a smile. Sleep still roughs her voice.

“I would never. _Ma douce, ma mie_."

“Okay, get out of here.” She shoves him out of the bed, and she hears the thud he makes when his shoulder makes contact with the rug. There’s a beat before his head appear just above the mattress.

“ _Mon ourson en sucre_?” He says with a weird inflection, purposefully annoying and he gets a pillow in his face for his trouble. “Okay, I’ll stop.” He climbs back into the bed and lay by her side, get his arms around her. “Happy birthday.”

“Hmmm.” Is the sun really out already? What time is it?

“How does it feel to be 135?”

“Awful. I keep needing to wake up in the morning.” She says through a yawn and she hears his small chuckle.

“But you get the best view.” He’s grinning. His hair is sticking up with cowlicks and there’s still pillow marks over his cheek. But his eyes are bright and open and shinning with joy.

“I don’t think your 3 days old stubble is what I would call best view.” She’s lying. It adds a certain charm to his face. But again, she may be biased because she always liked her men more ruffled than neat and tidy.

“Who says I was talking about you? I’m the one who gets to watch you wake up every day.” Even after all this time, he still manages to make her blush. She feels her cheeks heat up but she doesn’t try to hide her amusement. “You look beautiful Nile.”

"You’re not so bad yourself.” She says, sliding a hand at the nape of his neck to get a proper good morning kiss. He happily obliges, and she tastes his smile on his lips.

“I made some crêpes. And there’s fresh coffee too if you want.” They don’t eat in bed, because spilling coffee on your most fragile parts once is more than enough. Even if it heals, it’s a certain kind of pain she’s not looking to feel more of.

“No, not yet. Five more minutes.” She buries back into the covers, warm and soft and clean and everything she wants right now. She has time.

“As you wish.” He says and immediately his arms find her and she nuzzle against his chest, happy and feeling safe, as it should be.

***

His cooking is really good. It surprised her more than once when he started cooking for them. He’s certainly not a chef and has a very limited range of meal he can make but if he sets his mind to it he can make some killer dish. And since he discovered her weakness for anything close to pancake, he learned about ten recipes of food that resemble the taste and texture. But nothing beats his crêpes, traditional and _'my mother’s mother’s aunt’s recipe!'_ he says each time. She’s not sure how true that statement is, but it does taste very traditional.

She layers honey and sliced fruits over her plate, and the maple syrup he found for her on the second serving she gets. Birthday and everything, she can do whatever she wants.

He just sat down at the small table they have in the patio of this safehouse, and she’s looking at him over the brim of her cup. He knows she’s doing it, but pretend he doesn’t so she can get her fill of how comfortable he looks. She knows she must look the same, in sleeping short and a ratty muscle tee she bought a while ago. The only thing she did this morning is take off her bonnet and wash her face, and isn’t that a wonderful thing to feel so at ease with someone else in her space?

They’re staying at an old house, a couple hours from Chicago. It’s rather small, but they don’t use it for mission; it’s one of the few places they keep absolutely clean to make it safe. There’s no record of it anywhere, and they always use cash to get there. There’s two bedrooms but more often that not its not used by the entire team at once. Nile got it a few years after she found out about her immortality, to have a space near her home town and near a family. Copley didn’t like that, but she was always careful. The house changed but the location didn’t, and she still likes to go there to rest between missions, when she needs the connection to her past life.

There’s a stray cat that’s been visiting them since they got here a week ago. It’s a small thing, black and white and barely bigger than her hands but he’s very loud when he wants something. He’s currently bothering Sébastien, rubbing at his calves and screaming loud meows at him until he caves in and give him some scraps from his plate.

“You know, he won’t stop coming if you keep feeding him.”

“You’re one to talk. You give him milk every time you close for the night.” And she has nothing to say to that. So she doesn’t. She only watches as the cat licks the butter off of his fingers, how peaceful he looks, watching this little beast ask for more food.

There’re some birds singing in a nearby tree, and that hasn’t changed. They look bigger than they did in her childhood, but they’re still birds. And she’s the same as she was a century ago. She knows her eyes have changed; she remembers the first sketch Joe did of her and the last one he showed her during the mission in Germany. They are less bright, deeper. Joe promised to catch her laughing, one day.

“I miss them.” She says in her cup of tea, and Sébastien looks up from the cat to her, lay a gentle glance at her.

“I know.” There’s a beat of silent, heavy and somber. “Wanna visit them?”

“Yeah.”

***

The cemetery hasn’t changed much since she was there last time. She couldn’t be at the service, but she visited the night her mother was laid into the ground. She was there for her brother’s too, the next morning after a night of weeping. It’s getting easier, to bear the grief. She has someone to bear it with her, and it helps.

The grave isn’t much, but it’s clean, and there’s flowers put every Sunday. She made sure of that, she pays in advance, and every ten years she arranges for the next decade.

She sits down in front of the two graves, her father’s away at the military graveyard, but she keeps him in her thought when she prays for them. Booker is standing behind, a presence at the border of her mind. He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in much but what he can touch, but he shares her pain, and that’s enough. She just needs him close.

“I love you mom.” She says, and she doesn’t cry anymore at her grave, but her throat always feels too tight, squeezed by what she feels. “Hope you’re still proud of me. I am. Proud of you. Of you too Andrew.”

***

They do not get back to the safehouse. Instead, they take a taxi to Chicago where they board on a plane to Italy where Joe and Nicky are waiting for them. They made plans a few weeks ago with them, and they all know it’s a surprise party that’s not really a surprise but it doesn’t matter. She missed them.

A whole nine hours later and still well early in the afternoon, they walk into the airport hall to find Joe and Nicky standing there. There are smiles exchanged, and then hugs and god did she missed Joe’s full body hug that leave her out of breath and laughing.

“Nile, you look good.”

“Thanks. You too Joe. Malta treated you right, huh?”

“It did.” There’s the sun in his smile, and he looks better than ever, long curls tied in a messy bun at the nape of his neck. There’s one rebellious strand that’s catching as his ear, and he push it back mindlessly.

“Nile.” Nicky says, and then she’s engulfed in one of his warm embraces. He kisses her temple, kind and gentle. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I missed you!” She turns around to see Joe and Book hugging, a big, hard greeting with a couple slaps on the shoulders because they’ve never been good at hiding their love, neither of them.

“Nicky, come here.” Sébastien has his arms already open when he walks in for his own hug, and like always with Nicky it’s more subdued but no less loving.

“Is Quỳnh here yet?” She asks Joe who shakes his head.

"She’s still at Venice. She decided to do the journey by train from Novosibirsk.”

“Oh. It must have taken days. Weeks even.”

“I know. But she says it calms her. She should be here before the sun sets.” Nile nods, and together they make their way to their car so they can finally have some peace at their own house. They’ve had it for a couple decades already, it’s quite new but it’s nice. It has a vintage charm Joe said, and it’s true, it looks like what she used to see on TV when watching mafia movies as a kid.

The house is filled with balloons of all colors when she walks in, and it’s been so long since she had a birthday with those, she’s laughing before she could even drop her bags. Joe sent her a wink, and she gives him a kiss on his cheek for that. They settle in their room, a spacious place with big windows and a bed _with a canopy!_ She doesn’t remember it being there last time she was there. Way to feel like a princess. She has a quick shower and changes out of her clothes because a sweaty plane shirt isn’t appropriate for anything. The stink alone would be enough to make her take it off, but the shape of it is also a good argument as to why she wants it off.

By the time she walks into the garden with a nice blouse and a pair of pants she keeps only for the good days, Quỳnh is waiting by the backyard pool. She has a drink in her hand already, and Nile knows she heard her coming but she doesn’t turn around, she let her walk up to her and stand by her side.

It’s not the same as it used to be. Andy has been gone for a long time, and Quỳnh isn’t the same. She isn’t always there either, but she troubled herself to come here today for Nile, and that’s enough already, to simply see her. After a year of shared nightmares, she’s glad to see the woman finding peace again.

“Quỳnh.” She says. “I’m glad to see you.” Quỳnh turns her head and offer her a small smile in greeting.

“You look good.”

“I am. I’m feeling great.” She looks out at the horizon, the ocean past the garden fences, take a breath in. “How are you?”

"I’m alive.” Which is a better answer than last time. Her hand flies to her necklace. Nile first knew it as Andy’s necklace. “I’ve found a place to stay, for a while.”

“You know you have us.”

“I do. But I need my space for now.” There’s a beat only filled by the waves and the seagulls.

“We have a mission coming up the next week. If you need to get out of your head for a while, you can come.”

“I’ll think about it.” She says, and finish her drink. “But today is not about me. What is it, 124?”

“135.” Nile says, cross her arms. “And I don’t feel a day over 27.” Quỳnh barks out a laugh, quick and sudden and gone just as fast as it arrived. “I’m doing better. I feel more confident leading them. I know they trust me, and somehow it makes it worse, because if it fails it’s on me.”

“They are not petty people. Nor are they resentful. Mistakes happen. You can’t never plan everything, and they understand that.” There’s clatter behind them, and they turn around to see Joe and Booker arguing about something. They just knocked a wine bottle down, and it’s spilling its content everywhere on the white table clothes and pristine napkins. She can see the curses on Sébastien’s lips and Joe’s happy grin.

"Are you happy?” Quỳnh asks, and Nile realize she started smiling. She tries to school her face.

“Yeah. He makes me happy. I make him happy too.” Every day he reminds her how loved she is, how big a part of his life she is, how needed she is. How important and valued she is by him and the rest of the family. It’s a nice feeling.

It took time for them to get there, and it’s not always easy work. He forgets to talk sometimes, and she’s not always good at keeping things clear in her head, but they’re trying. They make efforts, they both want what they have, and they’re both working together for that. Her mom always told her that love is not a gift from heaven but a piece of it you make for yourself, like a garden. You must work on it and nurture the tree to get the fruits.

She never had a green thumb in her first life, but she likes to think she’s gotten better at that.

“Good.” Quỳnh says, and she knows she gave Booker an approximation of a shovel talk that must have sounded something like ‘you’ll get your own coffin if you so much as hurt Nile.’ It was nice, to have the other look out of her. She’s glad they weren’t all pitchforks out with him but rather gave him a kind reminder, or else she would’ve felt worse about it and spoke up. But knowing that the family is there for her, and for Sébastien too, it’s a nice feeling. Because it was as much warning to him and making sure he knows he’s not alone anymore.

“Here.” Quỳnh says, and she’s handing a small package to Nile, wrapped in silk and tied with a black string. “I don’t want the others here when you open it.”

Inside a small square of leather sits a necklace, golden chain and a horse hanging from it. It’s stylized, long legs and a twisted torso, looking over its back. Scythian art, she looked that up in the first years with Andy.

“It’s for fortune, and strength in battle.” Quỳnh explains. “She never liked jewelry, but she had few items she held close to her heart. She always remained proud of them.”

“Thank you.” Nile only finds strength to say those two words. She doesn’t ask where she got it, or why she’s giving it away. Instead she folds the leather back over the necklace and tie the string around it. Awkwardly, Quỳnh get an arm around her and squeeze her in a semi hug.

“She would be proud of you.”

"I know.”

***

They have a cake for her, and they make her blow the mount of candles they put all over the poor thing, even if there’s wax dripping over the icing everywhere. It’s not even that big of a cake, and Joe gets a few burns as he tries to get all the candles off it. Her favorite kind, chocolate and oranges, just enough sweet and bitter to make it perfect.

She cuts slices and they share the cake with champagne and recollections from the years together. Joe leaves for a moment only to come back with a gift in his hands. She quickly wipes her hand before taking it because she’s sure it’ll be something worth more than she could ever imagine, and she doesn’t want it to have chocolate stains.

"It’s from the both of us.” Nicky says, quite uselessly. They’ve always been JoeandNicky to Nile for as long as she knew them.

“Come on, open it.” Joe presses her. It’s a medium size gift, big enough that she needs both hands to hold it, nicely wrapped in colored paper and with a big bow stuck on it. There’s a card too, with _'For a wonderful friend, and an even better sister'_ written in Joe angled and loopy handwriting. Nicky likes the rough batons that are more efficient for Latin alphabet. He only makes an effort for Arabic letters.

She carefully opens the wrapping, only because she knows it drives Joe crazy to wait for her reaction. And once she done, she’s left with a varnished box with a copper locket at the front. And inside there’s something indeed more precious than she could ever imagine. There’s about twelve different pigment in little glass bottle. She can recognize the bright blue of Azurite, and that’s madder roots at first glance, and she’s sure that’s what they use to make Verdigris right there in that one. And under the glass vials there’s a stack of paper neatly tied together by a string.

“It took some trials, but Nicky and I manage to have some batch of paper come out just right. It’s similar to what I worked on when I was young.”

“Joe, Nicky. That’s incredible.” She gently put the box on the nearby table to give them each a hug. “I love it, thank you so much!”

“We’ve been talking about this for a while, but now we can really try to work together like we did back then. I know you’ve been trying to get your hands on authentic pigments for a while.”

“He’s been jealous of the calligraphy lessons I gave you.” Nicky adds with a teasing grin. Joe mutters something along the line of ‘no I haven’t’ but he still gives a gentle touch to his husband’s hand, the corner of his lips raised.

“I would love to Yusuf. It’s a lovely gift.” She hasn’t painted in some time, too busy with their missions and trying to find time to breathe between them. She ought to take time for herself.

“I could show you how it was done in BCE.” Quỳnh says from her side, and that warms Nile heart just as much as Joe and Nicky’s gift did.

“That would be nice Quỳnh.” It’s an offer that means a lot more than what she’s letting on, they all know that.

***

And after much drinking, eating and dancing to atrocious Karaoke songs from Joe and Sébastien, and after a heartfelt declaration from Joe and Nicky, they all left to go sleep. Joe and Nicky first, then Quỳnh, and they all agreed they’d clean up tomorrow, too happy to deal with dishes and putting things away tonight.

Sébastien take her hands in his and tug her to their bedroom, looking back at her every three step or so, smiling wide and happy. He’s a bit tipsy, but he’s no longer drunk, he doesn’t do that anymore. He only keeps a light buzz that loosen his muscles and make his face warm.

“Come on, I got something for you.” He’s half whispering because the lights in the other rooms are off already, and it doesn’t take much to wake the other up. Once inside their room he crowds her to the bed, give her a sharp kiss over the corner of her lips, in too much haste to aim right.

She sits on the covers while he goes his bag and get something from its depth. He walks back holding it behind his back, and he waits until she offers her palms up to lay it in her hands.

“Got you this.” This is a gift wrapped in craft paper, tied with a cordon string. There’s a leaf tucked in it. A weeping willow leaf, the tree under which they kissed for the first time. Whoever says Joe is a romantic has never seen the competition he’s up against. More than once she caught them in a late drunken haze spilling poetry about their lovers. Sébastien is much more clumsy with his words than Joe but his passion burns just as bright.

She carefully tugs on the string, put the leaf on the bedside table to take off the paper, all under Sébastien’s scrutiny. It’s a book, in French because it’s what they used back in the days, a small thing they had for themselves in the midst of the eternal warriors and their infinite knowledge.

 _Au-delà_ the title reads, by Alice de Chambrier.

“First edition?”

“Second, with publisher’s notes in it. One of the few that survived.” She’s been looking for this one for a while. She was never very thorough in her searches but it has been in the back of his mind for quite some time now.

“Sébastien, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” She put the book with the leaf and stand up to hug him tight. Immediately his arms wrap around her back and he tucks his nose in her neck. His breath is warm over her skin. “I love it.”

“I’m glad.” She feels his lips moving. And there’s no music, but she doesn’t need it. Slowly she starts swinging in the middle of the room and he follows her. He lays his hands at her hips, she does the same around his neck and they do a vague imitation of a waltz, lost in each other’s gaze. She doesn’t know for how long they dance to the sound of their breathing alone, but she doesn’t care. She’s happy, and she’s living. She has her family with her, a new one; but just as good, just as loving and beautiful as her first.

“I love you, Monsieur Le Livre.” She says under a grin, and he steals it off of her with a kiss.

“I love you, Madame Freeman. Happy birthday.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not the best at speculating on the future, and I just wanted to escape the current hell that our earth is, so no climate change nor world wide catastrophes here. Everything’s fine and good and happy.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@salzundhonig](https://salzundhonig.tumblr.com/) if you ever wanna talk about how wonderful ms. Nile Freeman is.
> 
> Edit: quick translation of the French  
>  _Ma chérie_ \- my dear  
>  _Mamz'elle_ \- not really a pet name but a cute way to say miss, often used playfully  
>  _Mon cœur_ \- my heart  
>  _Mon ange_ \- my angel  
>  _Mi amor_ \- spanish, my love  
>  _Ma douce_ \- my beloved, lit. my sweet  
>  _Ma mie_ \- my dear. Very outdated pet name, come from _amie_ , friend. I'm talking Middle Ages outdated, used here to tease Nile  
>  _Mon ourson en sucre_ \- sugar bear, overly sweet and not a real pet name, used to tease Nile
> 
>  _Au-delà_ \- prep: beyond, can also mean on the other side or the hereafter. A book of poetry from Alice de Chambrier, a Swiss poetess.
> 
>  _Monsieur/Madame_ \- Mr, Mrs


End file.
